Heat Wave
by Kooro
Summary: A heat wave hits New York and Mike has to ride to work in it. But the heat takes its toll and when Mike gets a heat stroke, it suddenly becomes Harvey's job to take care of him. Mike whump. Bromance. No slash.
1. Too Hot to Handle

**A whole year? Really? We have to wait that long? But I miss it now.**

**White Collar isn't as cruel. They show half in January and the second half in the summer. That's bearable. But Suits… One long year for season two. Sigh. It seems fanfiction will have to fill the void. **

**I, like some many of you, can help.**

**._._._._._._._.**

Heat Wave

It was hot.

Really hot.

No, hot was an understatement. It was hotter than hot; worse than hot.

It was blazing, blistering, boiling, burning, flaming, scalding, scorching, searing, sizzling, sweltering.

Mike Ross stopped himself from continuing. It was just too damn hot to think. He closed his mental thesaurus (though he did feel a small twinge of pride for listing the synonyms alphabetically) and focused on what he was doing.

But his mind kept drifting. Much like his bike was.

An angry car horn blared and Mike blinked, snapping to attention in time to right his course and veer back towards the side of the curb just as a car sputtered past, the driver yelling incoherent curses at Mike.

Mike was too preoccupied with the heat wave that came trailing in the wake of the car to pay much attention to the driver. The wave slammed into his back and rolled over him, suffocating him in pure heat mixed with the choking smell of gasoline and smoke that clung to his body; no cooling breeze present to brush it away.

_Hot_

Coughing, he tried to wave the smog away but that mere action alone left him wheezing worse than he had when the car had passed. His bike wavered and he quickly grabbed the handle again to steady it.

It was hot.

Really hot.

No, hot was an understatement. It was –

Wait, he had already had this thought. But it was all he could think about.

_Hot_

To distract himself from the thought replying in his head and to help him focus, Mike lifted his head and blinked blearily into the sun.

A heat wave had crashed into New York and the city was drenched in it. The moment the sun touched the cloudless sky, the land burned.

Heat radiated from the sidewalk and passing cars. The air was heavy with the smell of sweat. Not even a whisper of a cool breeze or a drop in the temperature could be found. Standing still was almost as bad as moving. But at least as long as Mike kept pedaling into the hot wind, he could dry the sweat trickling down his brow, matting his hair to his forehead.

_Hot_

The streets were chocked with taxis, people determining it was worth the loss of the frugal dollar if only to sit in an air conditioned car rather than walk through the tangible heat. The few who braved walking in the blaze stayed close to the sides of the buildings and shops, seeking what little shelter of shade could be found under the awnings; pausing in front of shops that mercifully open automatic doors to let out tendrils of the cool air being pumped from air conditioners. The moment of bliss was short as the person was either forced to walk on, or the door closed, cutting off the sweet relief.

_Hot_

Diners with patios for outside dining were empty, the doors shut tight to prevent even a trickle of cool air from escaping. The empty tables simmered despite the open umbrellas that guarded them from the wrath of the sun's rays.

_Hot_

Mike's head dropped in defeat and his eyes returned to watching his pedaling feet. It took too much energy to keep his head up. And the weather was rapidly draining him of any energy he had left.

What a day to forget his water. Yes, his mind was fantastic with remembering anything that was written down. But when it came to remembering to bring something, like a cell phone, or a water bottle, Mike's mind overlooked it. Besides, he was running late. No time to stop and get a drink.

But it was so hot.

Mike sucked in the hot air as he forced himself to pedal faster. The stale air coursed down his throat like sandpaper. The contents in his stomach felt like they were boiling. Sweat clung to his body like an extra set of clothes.

Speaking of which, his suit was stifling. He had at least had the wisdom to remove the heavy jacket before riding but even in a white shirt and black pants, he was baking. He worked at the knot of his tie with damp fingers, trying to loosen it; to just remove its contact from his neck. His clothes were so damn heavy. And it felt like the fabric was sucking in the heat from the sun to press it against his fevered body.

_Hot_

A wave of nausea overcame him and he veered back into traffic. Angry horns buzzed in his ears, ripping apart any coherent thought he may have had. His head felt like it was splitting.

But he straightened his back and continued going forward, though he felt himself slowing slightly. He knew why. His legs were on fire and he was having difficulty relaying his orders to command them to keep pedaling.

_Hot_

He looked up again, blinking away the sweat and a tired smile cracked over his face.

Pearson Hardman was in view. He was almost there.

Just as Mike was pulling up to the bike rack in the front, a black car pulled up to the curb. The driver Mike recognized as Ray hurried over to the rear passenger side door and opened it.

Harvey Spector stepped out, trailing a tide of fresh, cold air with him, the cold practically pushing the heat away in order to accommodate Harvey. Hair slicked back perfectly; dressed in his full three-piece suit of glistening black complete with a thick black tie resting on his collarbone, Harvey was the epitome of cool amidst an ocean of people drowned in heat.

Harvey nodded his gratitude to Ray and stepped away from the car as Ray hurried to return to the shelter the car provided from the sun.

Harvey instantly targeted Mike and sauntered up to him, slicing neatly through the heat that ravaged Mike.

"You're late," he deadpanned. He examined Mike from head to foot disapprovingly. "And sweaty."

Mike finally managed to work his lock on his bike, (though he didn't bother releasing his pants legs from his socks) clearly exhausted from the task. He looked at Harvey dryly. He felt the look suited him since he felt he didn't have a drop of water left in him.

"And red," Harvey continued, eyeing Mike's face with unabashed morbid fascination. "You haven't been sneaking the Three-Course-Dinner Gum, have you?"

Despite his fatigue and the fact that he felt like he was standing in a vat of lava, Mike cocked an amused smile. "_Willy Wonka._ And the gum turns your face blue, not red. Nice try." His voice was course but Harvey didn't give any indication he noticed.

Harvey smirked back. "That was an easy one to warm up on. Don't think I'll give you a freebie like that again." He turned on his heel and started for the stairs, Mike following after him. "And it wasn't a get-out-of-jail free card either," he called back without turning. "Those reports I want should have been on my desk already."

Mike opened his mouth to make a smart remark, but his throat was so dry. No sound came out. He closed his mouth again and tried to work up some spit to swallow in order to moisten his throat, but even his mouth was dry. He swallowed nothing and tried to talk anyway.

If you take the stairs they will be, he tried to say but only managed to make out the first word before his throat closed up. His sentence was cut off by a harsh cough that scrape down his already sore throat.

It hurt.

Mike gripped his throat, feeling the vibrations from the sound of his coughing that assaulted his own ears.

The fit passed and Mike realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them slowly to find himself leaning on the rail of the stairs, breathing heavily.

And Harvey was looking at him oddly. He had one hand on the rail and one foot on the descending step, towards Mike.

_Hot_

"Mike. You don't look good," he said carefully, sharp eyes taking in the sight of the red-faced, haggard kid keeping himself upright by holding onto the rail.

A sarcastic smile lifted the corner of Mike's mouth but before he could make a snide comeback, the world tilted dangerously and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet him.

"Mike!"

Mike slammed against the ground, hard, the heat from the asphalt searing the cheek pressed against it. But Mike didn't have the energy to move. Everything was spinning so fast and it was so hot. He felt his stomach twist and lurch.

_Hot_

Then the world came to an abrupt halt as Harvey's face came into view.

"Mike!" Harvey yelled, taking the younger man by the shoulders and maneuvering him off the asphalt to lay him on the ascending steps. "Hey. What's wrong with you?"

"It's hot," Mike moaned, closing his eyes against the agonizing burn of the sun.

Shade washed over him and Mike peeked out with one eye to see Harvey had moved beside him, purposefully blocking the light of the sun. His boss was looking down at him questioningly, concern lining his eyes.

"Better," Mike mumbled before allowing his eye to close.

"Hey. You stay awake," Harvey demanded as a light slap jolted Mike. He opened his eyes again as the hand that had hit him came to rest tentatively against the stung cheek and then move up to his forehead.

"Jesus. You're burning up."

"It's hot," Mike intoned, in a matter-of-fact tone rather than in his previous complaint. He wanted to continue with a comment about Harvey's austere knowledge of the obvious; perhaps even drop in the title "Captain Obvious" but couldn't. He swallowed nothing again.

The counter brought some relief into Harvey's face but worry chased it away again.

His hand moved from Mike forehead to his neck where he found a rapid pulse.

"We have to cool you down," Harvey mused, his usual nonchalant tone a barely audible octave higher.

The subtle change alerted Mike that something besides a dizzy spell was affecting him.

"What is it?" he gasped, his throat defiantly refusing to obey him further.

"You're having a heat stroke."

Mike looked up at Harvey fearfully. The potential fatal condition cleared some of the fog from his mind in time to realize that his body was shutting down on its own volition. Black rimmed his vision as he took in the sight of Harvey's worried expression. Harvey leaned in closer, his mouth moving but no sound reaching Mike's ears. His eyes started to close.

_Hot_

A cool touch cupped his cheek and Mike leaned into it gratefully. Then, the refuge of darkness took over and he was pulled away from the insufferable heat.

**.**_**._._._._._._.**

**The idea for this came after a particularly hot week. Ok, it was worse than hot. The descriptions found above more accurately describe the days of that week. It was pretty bad. There was even heat lightning. Yeah, it was hot.**

**It did make me wonder what would happen if Mike went riding around in that kind of weather and then that thought led me to heat stroke. So, yeah, I gave Mike a heat stroke. **

**As you probably noticed, I repeat the word "hot" several times. No, it's not to annoy you guys. It's simply to emphasize how hot it is. The fact that Mike contuniously thinks of the single word "hot" helps get my point across that it's hot. **

**This fic came out a lot longer than I expected but I hope you guys don't mind too terribly. **

**Unfortunately, Suits and its characters do not belong to me. The Willa Wonka reference doesn't either. But I'm glad I get to borrow them. **


	2. Water is the World's First Medicine

**So sorry. Meant to post this yesterday but you know how life is. You have to play by Its rules and just go with the tide. **

**This chapter was originally meant to be longer but I split it because it was a little too long. **

**Before I go on, let me just thank my readers and reviews; my favers and watchers. I really, **_**really**_** appreciate all that you do. Just reading this means a lot. **

**._._._._._._._.**

Heat Wave

_Chapter 2:_

Cold crashed over him and Mike woke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was the fluorescent lights beaming above him. He instantly recoiled from the light, shutting his eyes tightly.

The next thing he noticed was that he was lying against a cool, hard surface. His head, contrarily, was pillowed by damp fabric.

And he was wet.

Curiosity overcoming discomfort, Mike pried his eyes open to take in his surroundings. Empty stalls lined his right and sinks lined his left. He was lying on the floor of a bathroom, hopefully one designated to males.

He was also missing his clothes except for his boxers which were, like the rest of him, thoroughly soaked.

And standing above him was a breathless Donna holding a coffee pot which had been filled with the water that was now trickling down Mike's body towards the drain in the middle of the bathroom. Her hair was in disarray: a look often acquired from running.

The moment his gaze locked with hers, Donna let out a sigh of relief and the tension that constricted her shoulders visibly melted away.

"Donna?" Mike croaked. He tried to clear his throat and try again when Harvey burst into the bathroom, another coffee pot sloshing with cold water in hand. He had taken his jacket off but (unsurprisingly) his vest was impeccably in place. What was surprising was that his tie was slightly askew and his hair similarly disheveled as if, he too, had been running.

Harvey took one look at the conscious Mike staring up at him quizzically and instantly composed himself. He set the coffee pot lightly on top of one of the sinks and then turned his attention to Donna.

"Donna, could you please bring a bottle of water?"

Donna nodded and, after glancing once more at Mike with a thankful smile, hurried out of the bathroom with the empty coffee pot.

"Harvey, what's going on?" Mike struggled, wincing at the strain of talking. The words physically burned his throat. He coughed. "Why am I…?"

He tried to sit up, to look at his suit-less condition, but Harvey was suddenly at his side and eased him back down with a gentle but firm hand against his shoulder.

"Don't get up yet," he advised gently.

Mike allowed his body to fall back to the cool bathroom floor where the water puddled around him. It was for the best after all. The moment he had moved his head, his vision twisted and swirled, and he could have sworn that the wall of sinks had switched places with the ceiling. He closed his eyes to fend off the disorienting sight.

Wordlessly, Harvey trailed his fingers over to Mike's neck to check his pulse, and then to his forehead to check his temperature. He leaned back with a heavy sigh in satisfaction.

"What happened?" Mike asked, his voice cracking. He opened tired eyes that fought to stay closed. "Why do my eyes hurt?"

"Stop talking," Harvey ordered. "Some genius you are, to try to keep talking despite the fact that it hurts."

"Was that a hidden compliment?" Mike managed.

"I said shut up."

Mike opened his mouth to protest but a glare from Harvey dissuaded him. The two were silent for a moment, Mike shifting his gaze around distractedly, taking in the empty bathroom stalls, the porcelain sinks (one of which looked like it really needed to be inspected by a plumber), and the tiles he lay on, sparkling with the water that had splashed over him.

Lastly, he turned his gaze on Harvey who remained kneeling at his side, ignoring the water that had surely soaked his pant legs.

Mike was about to fish for answers again when Donna reentered, brandishing a cold water bottle glistening with the condensation that proved its coldness.

Mike's mouth would have watered at the sight if he had any water to spare.

Harvey took the offered bottle and twisted it open.

"All right, kid," he said, putting the bottle down so that he could slip one arm under Mike and pull him up into a sitting position.

Mike tried to sit up on his own. He didn't want to get Harvey's suit wet. It probably cost more than a year of rent. But Harvey didn't allow him the chance. He kept his arm around Mike's shoulders and drew him close. Mike couldn't resist. He didn't even have the strength to sit up straight, let alone pull away. His head fell against Harvey's shoulder and he absentmindedly noted the difference between the hard tiled floor and Harvey's shoulder.

Then Harvey lifted the water bottle to Mike's lips and eased the cold liquid down Mike's throat.

It was like a well had burst from the course sands of the desert, the cool water raining down on the sun-scorched earth.

It was the sweetest, most pure thing Mike had ever tasted. It was heaven.

He lifted shaking fingers to the bottle in order to tip it further to allow the waterfall to increase its flow down his parched throat. But Harvey kept the bottle firm.

"Easy, kid," he said, keeping a regulated flow. He cut off the supply a moment later and Mike balked as the waterfall went dry.

He pulled at the bottle but Harvey kept it upright.

"Not too much," he explained. "Otherwise you'll get sick."

"Worth it," Mike rasped.

"You won't think so when it happens," Harvey countered but tipped the bottle once more to let Mike drink.

They sat there like that for several minutes: Harvey allowing Mike to drink controlled amounts of water slowly, then stopping for a moment to allow Mike's body to adjust to the sudden introduction of water it had gone too long without, before starting the process again. Donna stood by the door patiently, watching.

When Mike had swallowed the last of the bottle's contents, Harvey carefully lowered him back to the floor and handed Donna the empty bottle. Donna took it, holding Harvey's gaze with her own in a silent conversation. He nodded assuredly at her and she left once more.

Mike was comfortable in the puddle now; the fabric at his head keeping his neck cool. The previous intense heat was wearing off as he cooled in the air conditioned room while lying nearly naked on the wet floor. Granted, he was still pretty warm and the puddle around him seemed to warm as well but it was definitely an upgrade to how he felt before.

"Permission to speak, Captain," he asked softly in a voice that no longer pained him.

"Permission granted," Harvey said as he stood, stretching stiff legs.

"What happened?"

**._._._._._._._._.**

**I don't think you can call this a cliffhanger, but I'll stop it here. The second half will come in the next chapter.**

**I know it may seem weird or slashy, but this is how you are supposed to treat heatstroke: cool, water, and de-clothe the victim. Retain this knowledge, my readers. It just might come in handy. It's still pretty hot outside so take care of yourselves and HYDRATE!**

**Thank you again for reading. Reviews, constructive criticism, and the pointing out of typos is all greatly appreciated.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	3. Off to See the Doctor

**Since this was originally part of the previous chapter, I decided to post this chapter early. The two go better together. **

**For those looking for one of Harvey's I-don't-care-but-I-really-do speeches, don't worry, that comes later. First, Mike has to be taken care of before Harvey can start lecturing. **

**And might I say that I'm glad those of you in hot places have not suffered from any kind of heat illness. Very glad indeed. I've never experienced like it either but it sure doesn't sound fun.**

**As always, thank you to all my readers and reviewers. You guys are my inspiration and motivation.**

**._._._._._._.**

Heat Wave

_Chapter 3:_

"What happened?"

Harvey paused in his inspection of himself in a mirror. He didn't turn but started adjusting his tie.

"You had a heat stroke," he said simply as if he were merely stating facts at a trial.

"Yeah, I remember that part," Mike replied wincingly. His head still ached and his muscles still burned with the memory. "After that."

Harvey still didn't look at him. Mike took the opportunity to close his sensitive eyes without the fear of getting reprimanded and lectured.

"I dragged your ass in here," Harvey answered with an annoyed huff as if Mike's passing out had seriously impacted his day by distracting him from other, more important matters. "No easy chore, I assure you," he added.

Mike chuckled, his closed eyes oblivious to the small, fleeting smile reflected in the mirror.

"I told the security guard to call an ambulance and Donna to get cold water while I took off your clothes."

"Quite the nurse, aren't you."

"I've seen a fair share of heat exhaustion and stroke while on the field. I know what to do when I see it."

Granted, Harvey's knowledge of the potentially fatal condition likely saved Mike's life, but the image of Harvey removing Mike's clothes in the firm's bathroom was amusing as it probably instigated some embarrassment in Harvey. Mike didn't feel the effects quite as strongly. He had been too busy overheating to be conscious or embarrassed. Plus, the embarrassment he did feel was lightened with the teasing he was giving Harvey.

"So, 'you're a Doctor, not an athlete' now?" Mike asked, doing his best impersonation of Dr. McCoy while having a sore throat. He opened his eyes in order to see Harvey's reaction.

This time Harvey did look back at him, one brow raised in feigned annoyance. His smirk, however, countered its full effect.

"Please proceed, Doctor," Mike grinned.

The smirk faded and eyes darkened as Harvey looked away again, this time focusing on his collar and vest. Mike's own grin faltered as a change seemed to come over the older man. His back had stiffened and he plucked at his vest a little too roughly.

"Donna came back with water and splashed you but you didn't wake up," Harvey continued.

Mike frowned. Harvey's tone had changed too. It was no longer as nonchalant and impersonal as before. There seemed to be something weighing down the words, causing the air they resounded in to grow heavy.

"Your temperature was too high. You weren't waking up. More water didn't help." The words were clipped and curt.

Harvey had given up trying to pretend to attend to his attire. His kept his back to Mike, his head lowered slightly to look at his hands that were clenching the sides of the sink.

"We both went to get more water."

Mike glanced at the bathroom sinks, wondering why Harvey hadn't just used the closest source of available water, but didn't voice his question aloud.

"When I came back, you were finally awake." A pause and a swallow. "And here we are," Harvey finished. The familiar featureless tone was back but sounded too harsh and forced.

Mike stared at Harvey's back. Silence consumed the enclosed space.

Harvey had pulled him out of the unrelenting heat and had acted swiftly in order to wake him and prevent the heat stroke from causing permanent damage. And, judging from the way Harvey had come running into the bathroom with a coffee pot of water, his actions may not have been entirely free of panic.

Though the moment had been fleeting, Mike could have sworn he saw genuine concern in the eyes of the man claiming to have no emotions.

Then again, within that next moment, the bathroom walls had reorganized themselves. Perhaps what Mike saw had merely been another illusion.

But he couldn't even convince himself of that.

"Harvey," Mike started hesitantly, tilting his head to better look at Harvey.

His boss turned slowly to meet the gaze of his associate and Mike could see a heaviness that matched the weight of his voice around Harvey's eyes. A heaviness caused by fear. Fear of losing something important. Someone important.

Mike knew the look all too well. It was a look more commonly associated with himself and it looked strangely out of place while in the disposition of his boss.

So it had been no illusion. Harvey had truly been worried about Mike.

Mike opened his mouth in preparation to speak.

"Harvey, the paramedics are here," Donna interrupted, poking her head into the bathroom. Both Harvey and Mike turned their attention to her in surprise. She paused guiltily at having ruined a private conversation, eyes widening in realization.

Harvey recovered first. "Thank you, Donna. Lead them here."

Donna nodded, mouthed an apology, and disappeared again.

Harvey exhaled deeply as he returned his gaze to Mike. Some of the weariness lifted from his shoulders with the news that medical help had finally come for Mike.

"What were you going to say?" Harvey asked, glancing distractedly at the bathroom door; slipping his hands into his pocket as if unsure of what else to do with them.

Mike struggled for a moment, debating whether or not to call Harvey out on his displayed emotion. He smiled instead.

"How much do I owe you?"

"What?" Harvey blanched, his full attention back on Mike.

Mike gestured at his suit-less body pointedly, an impish grin on his face.

Harvey stared at him in surprise and then his own devious smile curved his lips. He promptly took the coffee pot of water and deftly dumped it over Mike.

Mike gasped as the cold water suddenly cascaded over him.

"If I was going to charge you, I'd have told you beforehand," Harvey smirked, his usual air of impassive superiority back. He replaced the coffee pot and opened the bathroom door for the approaching paramedics. Without looking back, he stepped through and walked out of sight.

"_The Wedding Date_," Mike called after him. "Big mistake. You just admitted to watching a chick flick."

Donna slipped into the bathroom; two paramedics and a gurney behind her. Hiding a smile, she hovered over Mike as he was lifted onto the gurney. Ice was shoved under his arms and legs while one of the paramedics fiddled with an IV drip. As he was wheeled away, Donna took her place beside him, one hand resting on the gurney near his shoulder.

The gurney turned towards the front door and Mike turned his head to look back for Harvey. He caught a glimpse of his boss going back into the bathroom and then coming out again to stand in the hall, arms folded over his chest, a dripping jacket hanging from one hand. Mike managed to catch the reassuring smile Harvey gave him before he was forcibly turned away as he was pushed out the front door and carried down the steps.

"Question," Mike said aloud.

"Yes?" Donna answered.

"Why didn't Harvey just use the water in the bathroom?"

"He said it wasn't cold enough."

Mike looked up at Donna in shock. She smiled warmly back down at him. Mike breathed out a laugh and shook his head.

Why didn't Harvey just admit that he had been worried about Mike? Didn't he know Mike and Donna could see through his façade?

"Question," Mike repeated as he was pushed towards the waiting ambulance.

"Yes?" Donna answered dutifully.

"Was I lying on Harvey's jacket?"

"Yes."

"The same jacket that is now wet and likely ruined?"

"Yes."

Mike cringed, and not from the heat this time. "Do you think he'll make me pay him back?"

"No."

Mike looked up at her hopefully.

"I know he will."

Mike sank further into the gurney. A new wave of nausea that had no connection with the heat the paramedics were rapidly working to get him out of churned in his stomach. They quickly lifted him into the back of the ambulance. Donna stood firm by the open doors, keeping her eyes on Mike as he was settled. The paramedics, sensing her unwavering determination, didn't bother to politely ask her to leave. Neither one wanted to take the risk since each time they made a move to, Donna shot them a glare that could freeze deserts or melt the artic.

"You think fifty dollars will be enough?" Mike asked as one paramedic took his seat beside Mike and the other hopped back out onto the sidewalk.

"I'd say you're three hundred short," Donna replied with a knowing smile.

Mike laughed (the action quickly reverting to a cough) as the second medic closed the doors and trotted up to the front of the ambulance. He should have known perfectly well that Donna had overheard their earlier conversation. She had probably been standing outside the bathroom door the entire time.

He sobered when he realized that, while Donna had been quoting the movie, she had probably also given him an honest estimate as to how much he owed Harvey for ruining his suit jacket.

Disliking the thought, Mike was glad when the combined effects of exhaustion and soreness took over and allowed his mind to slip into the dark.

The ambulance rumbled away from the curb, lights flashing, and raced off to the hospital.

Donna watched the ambulance drive out of sight. The moment it had, a black car pulled up to the curb in front of her. She turned her head expectantly to see Harvey already at her side. He opened the car door for her and she slipped inside, Harvey coming in after her.

Then, the black car pulled away and took off after the ambulance.

**._._._._._._._.**

**Had to put another movie quote in here. I think **_**The Wedding Date**_** (not mine) fit in well. Harvey wouldn't have watched it alone, I'm sure, so who did he watch it with…? Hmm. :)**

**Like I said, this fic is kind of long, so there will be a few more chapters before concluding. I hope I can keep your attention that long. And I hope you will continue to enjoy it.**

**More caring!Harvey to come.**

**Hobey-Ho**


	4. A Voice in the Dark

**Yes, it's long but I couldn't cut it to make it shorter. I felt it would ruin it if I did. I start school tomorrow so I decided to post tonight in case I wouldn't have time to post tomorrow. I guess you guys are just going to have to read this chapter a day early.**

**._._._._._._._.**

Heat Wave

_Chapter 4:_

The darkness stubbornly persisted. Even when he was conscious, he was trapped in the dark. It impaired both sight and hearing. His eyes refused to open and the only sounds he could pick up were dull thrums. It affected his mind too, making his thoughts sluggish and incoherent. He couldn't hold a solid thought for long before the dark ripped it away from him and tore it to shreds, making it impossible to piece together again.

It was frustrating.

And empty.

And lonely.

His voice didn't work. He couldn't call out to anyone. He couldn't even fend off the oppressive dark with a distracting one-sided conversation.

In times of semi-consciousness, his body felt heavy and unresponsive. He couldn't move. His hands were made of lead and his feet felt like they were missing from his body. He couldn't wiggle his toes to assure himself that his feet were still attached. Even the mere movement of his chest as he took in slow, deep breaths felt arduous.

The one comfort he did have was that everything hurt.

The pain reminded him that his limbs were all still attached and that everything was working properly aside from being immobile. That pain meant that he was still alive.

Despite this truth, in the unyielding empty darkness, he began to feel afraid. Trapped as he was, he could not cry out for help. He doubted he even had the ability to register help if it was given to him. There was no escape.

And he was afraid he would be trapped forever. Lost in the dark. Alone.

Perhaps he was in a coma. He had never been in one before. Was this what it felt like? To be so close to the tangible world: to be able to dimly hear sounds of movement around him and yet be unable to determine what or who was making them? to be able to feel his own body and the pain that emitted from it and yet be unable to move?

Perhaps he was in limbo, suspended between life and death. He grandmother had mentioned limbo once after a harrowing encounter with a heart attack. She had died for a full minute before the doctors had brought her back. She had said that, in the minute, it felt like a lifetime of just floating, weightless in the dark where she could make neither sound nor movement.

Was he dying? He couldn't remember if he had been. He couldn't remember anything except the unending dark close around him. Was he already dead? Was he doomed to spend an entirely alone in the dark?

He didn't like it. He hated it. He wanted it to stop; to go away.

Something wet and warm trickled down his cheek. He could feel that. He could feel the tears sliding down his face. But he could do nothing about it. He was still in the dark, unsure if he was comatose or dying or not. But he could cry. His body hadn't quite detached from the physical world just yet.

The fact brought some relief; a small victory in a losing war. But clearly not enough since the tears continued to fall.

And then a presence appeared at his cheek and shattered the suffocating dark. A soft touch from, what his mind dimly registered as fingers, caressed his cheek, wiping away the tears.

He could have cried out in pure joy. He wasn't alone after all. There was someone else at the edge of the darkness. Someone he couldn't see or hear, but knew to be there. The warm touch lingering on his cheek proved it.

But then the touch went away and he panicked in the dark. Had he slipped back into unconsciousness and could no longer feel the presence beside him? Was the presence even still there?

He relaxed again as the familiar fingers embraced his hand. He wished with all his heart that he had the strength to grip that hand back but the fact that there was someone with him and that his body had not disappeared into the dark was enough.

The hand that held his was warm and gentle, a thumb slowly stroking the back of his hand. And it didn't pull away. He was sure time passed but the hand and presence remained at his side.

Reassured, Mike didn't mind falling back into unconsciousness. He knew that the hand would continue to hold his and the owner would be at his side when he woke up.

OoOoO

He wasn't sure when it happened or for how long it had lasted, but the dark finally started to recede.

Mike was able to cling to consciousness for greater amounts of time between lapses of sleep caused by the exhaustion from being awake.

He found he could finally open sore, sensitive eyes. His vision was marred and blurry but he could make out hazy shapes, subdued color, and piercing light. Shadowy figures passed before him, teasing him with their presence but never quite granting him a clear image of who they were. There was one shadow that hovered at his side, never moving. But no matter how hard Mike squinted at it, the shadows never parted to reveal the person.

His hearing had improved as well, but perhaps a little too well. Before, the sounds he could hear were distant and muted. Now they were too close and far too loud. He could distinctly hear hollowed footsteps that echoed painfully in his head. Every shift of the blanket; the way the rough cloth scraped against his clothes; every minute sound resounded clearly in a cacophonous roar in his head. It made him cringe.

That was his silver lining: that fact that he could move his body again. Granted, it was a slight movement, more reflexive than voluntary, but it was a start. He could feel his feet again.

And, as the dark released its immobilizing grip, Mike found that his memory was recovering. He remembered what had happened, where he was, why he was suffering, and who had saved him.

And he found that he could make new memories again rather than lose his thoughts to the dark. There were a few moments of consciousness that he retained in his mind.

The first of which was when cold jolted him aware. He had looked around wildly to find himself submerged in an ice-tub filled with cold water that came as a relief to his fevered body. It felt so good to have the clinging heat chased away by soothing cold. He remembered leaning back into the pillow that kept his head above the water. He could hear movement around him but kept his eyes tightly closed to block out the light raining down from above.

He remembered being eased back into bed with ice packs around him as a fan buzzed somewhere near his head. The room was already air-conditioned but, under the blankets, it was still too warm for his liking. The fan felt good against his face.

He remembered waking to find a shadow looming over him while brusque prodding fingers checked his pulse and temperature.

He remembered the bite of a needle as a new IV was put in.

He remembered gentler fingers performing the same acts as the previous shadow he figured to be the doctor had: carefully checking his pulse and placing a comforting hand over his forehead to test his temperature.

He remembered fingers brushing through his hair; a cloth being dabbed at his brow; a constant weight on his hand.

More than once he heard his name being spoken aloud: sometimes in a woman's velvety voice; often in a man's lower one. He could hear other words and quiet murmurings being spoken but they were too faint for him to catch, even with his newly acquired Spidey Senses.

He even vaguely remembered a melodious hum that mercifully drowned out the sharper sounds that haunted him. The pleasant song lulled him into an easy sleep.

The latest memory was the one occurring now.

The heat woke him first, followed by his throat's demand for water. He kept his eyes closed. The lights seemed to be particularly bright this time.

"Hello…?" he asked in a rustic voice.

There was a rustling beside him and the creak of a chair. Then the weight on his hand shifted and gentle fingers squeezed his hand.

"Thank God," a voice said, relief making the words light and breathless. "What is it, Mike? What do you need?"

"Water," Mike croaked.

The weight left his hand and Mike thought it felt oddly light and cold without it. There was more rustling and then the sound of water being poured into a cup.

"All right, kid. Here we go," the voice said as a hand slipped under his head and eased him upright. "Ready?"

Mike nodded blindly and a paper cup came to his lips. Mike obediently opened his mouth and the cup's contents were eased down his parched throat. He swallowed with slight difficulty, coughing wetly, but the water stayed down. He was given more water before the cup was regrettably pulled away and Mike's head returned to his pillow.

He laid back with a sigh. But his brows furrowed from the intrusive light that beat against his closed eyes.

"Too bright," he moaned, voice raw and strangled.

"Hang on," the voice said and Mike decided he liked the sound of it.

A moment later and a damp cloth was draped over his eyes, cutting off the light and offering respite from the heat that plagued him.

He murmured his content, a smile crossing his features.

The chair creaked as the owner of the voice settled back into it and then the familiar hand took Mike's once more.

"How you doing, kid?"

"Tired…" Mike answered in a fading whisper. "Everything hurts."

"That's to be expected. Pushing yourself in this weather. You should have taken a cab."

Mike gave his head a tiny shake: the extent of movement he could perform as of yet. "Traffic. Would have been late. Harvey'd get mad."

The voice paused and that hand that held his twitched slightly. Mike thought nothing of it. He was preoccupied with trying to deliver the command to move to his hand. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted so badly to return the hold the voice's hand had on his. He was failing.

"I think your boss would have understood," the voice said heavily. "Better you be late than have a heat stroke."

Mike tried to laugh but the attempt came out as a wheeze that made him cough. "You… don't know my boss."

"You may not believe me, but your life does happen to be more important than a stack of files. I'm sure your boss knows that."

"I doubt that," Mike countered dryly, his voice matching the way his body felt.

"Don't hold your boss in much high regard?" the voice asked, an edge to the words that went unnoticed by Mike.

"That's not it," Mike protested, his voice gaining some strength at the incredibility of the claim. "I hold him high in every regard." He cleared his throat painfully and another cup of water mercifully came to his lips. He drank what was given and then settled back.

"I don't understand," the voice said hesitantly.

"Harvey's a good man," Mike explained lightly, "though you may not know it at first." He paused, swallowing several times. It felt like he hadn't talked in months and the sudden strain of talking a lot all at once was beginning to take effect. But he had to get his point across.

"Honest and fair. Doesn't play dirty. I trust him." He chuckled brokenly. "Saved my life more than once now."

The grip that held his hand had tightened but Mike paid it no mine. It didn't hurt any more than it already was. He tried again to make his fingers move, even a little.

"And he takes care of me. I mean, really good care of me… In his own way."

"How do you figure that?" The voice was sharp and Mike winced at the sound of it. "You could have died today because of him."

"Not his fault," Mike argued, brows furrowing under the cloth. "Not his fault it was hot or that I forgot water." His body started to shake and his throat grew coarse, making him cough. Dammit. He was just getting the hang of talking again and his voice was failing him.

"Hey, take it easy. Calm down," the voice said quickly, a hand taking his shoulder. "I believe you. It wasn't his fault."

Mike took a shuddering breath and did as he was told. The hand patted his shoulder proudly and pulled away. "Good boy."

"Don't tell Harvey this," Mike started again, his voice weaker, "but, why he looks out for me. It's because he cares."

"Why can't I tell Harvey?" the voice asked, amused.

"He can't admit it," Mike answered. "That he cares. Don't tell him I told you. He'd fire me. Promise."

The voice chuckled. "All right, I promise. Just stop talking and get some rest."

"Seriously. If he found out, he'd punish me with paperwork, and then fire me. He might even –"

"I said shut up."

Mike paused indignantly. The moment he did, however, the exhaustion from talking bombarded him. The attack caught Mike completely by surprise as darkness beat at his consciousness. His body shuddered as the fatigue washed through him, shutting down the muscles he was just starting to regain control of.

"Mike?"

"Tired…"

"Ok. Get some sleep, kid. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Satisfied, Mike was about to succumb to sleep when the voice suddenly registered in his mind. It was familiar. He knew who it belonged to.

"Harvey?" he asked in a small voice.

Harvey's hand squeezed his reassuringly as fingers trailed through his hair. There was no answer but Mike didn't have the strength to stay awake any longer to wait for one. He didn't stand a chance against his sheer exhaustion.

Before he could recount what he had said and panic about it, sleep overtook him and he remembered no more.

**._._._._._._._._.**

**A little darker than before, yes, but heat stroke's tough. I hope you still enjoyed it. Comedy comes back in the next chapter, as does a more conscious Mike.**

**There's more I want to say: a question I want to ask, an opinion I want to express but writing more will only add to the word count and makes this chapter even longer. I'll wait for a shorter chapter. **

**I will thank you all though. Because you guys deserve that.**

**Hobey-Ho**

**(Please inform me of typos. Thank you)**


	5. Wake Up and Smell the Disinfectant

**Now that I know you guys don't mind long chapters, I feel better about posting this one.**

**Thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback. I was blown away by your reviews. I'm sure you've been waiting for this, so I'll leave my talking for the end. Please read and enjoy.**

**._._._._._._._._._._.**

Heat Wave

_Chapter 5:_

This time, when he opened his eyes, he was able to see.

The first thing Mike saw was the ceiling, tiled with white squares placed flush against each other except where two rectangular lights broke the ranks: one directly above Mike's head; the other illuminating the path in front of the door open to his room, long fluorescent bulbs buzzing with electricity. He blinked against the stale light. It didn't pierce him quite as fiercely as before but it was still a little too bright for his liking.

A long window was set in the wall to his right. Mike turned his head slightly to inspect this next. He could see sunlight peeking through the edges of the closed blinds. Judging by its brightness, Mike estimated it to be late morning.

Morning already? He had to go to work. He was going to be late again and Harvey was not going to be pleased.

He was about to push himself out of bed when his attention shifted to the metal box near his head and his eyes dropped down from the window to examine it. The machine beeped softly with Mike's heartbeat. He could see the glowing numbers that announced his heart rate. It was normal. Below that was his temperature. It was a little high but not enough to be considered dangerous or even threatening.

He followed the wires connecting him to the machine to his chest where he found he was in a hospital gown in a hospital bed, a thin blanket pulled down to his stomach so that he could clearly see several wires slithering under his gown to stick to his chest and the clamp that trapped one finger.

Oh. He wasn't at home. He was in the hospital. Because he had had a heat stroke at work. Well, at least now he didn't have to worry about getting the "if I had wanted someone to show up late to work, I would have hired the White Rabbit" speech from Harvey.

His eyes traveled over to his left arm where he saw a needle imbedded in his flesh. The image made his stomach churn (he never did like needles) and he quickly looked away. To distract himself from the sight, he decided to follow the IV drip to its source to see what was being distributed into his body.

He never made it. Something else distracted him.

On his left was a man.

He sat in a chair set close to Mike's bedside. He wore a white dress shirt that looked like it desperately needed to be ironed and had most likely been worn for longer than a day. A vest was taut over the dress shirt, contrasting strikingly against the white fabric. Mike briefly thought the vest was an unnecessary addition to the outfit but determined it actually fit the look on this man.

A jacket was draped over the back of the chair the man sat in, a thick black tie arranged neatly atop it.

His hair looked like it had once been sleeked back with perfection at one time but now it was mussed as if the man had pushed his hand through it one too many times.

What Mike couldn't see was the man's face. Because he was currently sleeping, hunched over on the bed near Mike's side with his head pillowed on folded arms. One arm extended under the other to cover Mike's hand with his own, fingers limply entwined with Mike's.

It was a familiar weight.

Mike stared at the sleeping man at his side, idly aware that his hearing had recovered to normality so that he could hear the distant footsteps of movement outside his room. He focused on the man's leveled breathing. It was a pleasant sound.

Mike opened his mouth. He didn't want to break the quiet that cocooned them; didn't want to break the spell that stopped time and separated him and this man from the rest of the world, but he wanted to see the man's face, see a smile; hear him speak. It felt like it had been a lifetime since the last time he had.

His fingers slowly gripped the hand that held his.

"Harvey?"

The man stirred at his side with a mumble. His fingers – remembering what task had been appointed to them – automatically tightened over Mike's. He rubbed his eyes against the inside of his elbow and then sleepily looked over it.

The moment russet eyes met blue-gray, Harvey was awake and he straightened instantly, all signs of tiredness wiped clear from his features.

"Mike."

Mike offered him a tired smile. "That's my name."

A similar smile broke out over Harvey's lips, the light reaching dark eyes. He released a relieved sigh, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders as he sank down to lean forward on his elbows. His eyes searched Mike's for a moment, as if to ensure that Mike was actually looking at him (and was actually seeing him) and that the previous fog had lifted. Mike held his gaze to prove it had.

"How are you feeling?" Harvey asked quietly, his hand refusing to release Mike's.

"Better," Mike answered. "But I don't know if I'll ever be able to play the violin again."

"Give it time, smartass" Harvey chuckled as he rapped Mike on the forehead with a soft fist. "You'll be able to run that marathon too in time. Now, how about a real answer."

"Still tired," Mike answered honestly. He knew he couldn't lie to Harvey even if he wanted to. The man could read people so easily it was like he had a damn lie detector wired into his brain. "And sore. It hurts."

"I know, kid," Harvey said sympathetically. "That's the side effects of a heat stroke: sore muscles, fatigue, all that good stuff."

"Yay," Mike monotoned with an exaggerated lack of enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, it won't last long. And the doctor has already given you pain medication to minimize the worst of it."

"Yay," Mike repeated with an exaggerated excess of enthusiasm.

Harvey chuckled and Mike noted that some of the weariness seeped into the older man's features started to ebb away.

"Hey, can you help me up? I'm tired of lying down," Mike asked, trying to perform the action himself but only managing to push up against the headboard so that his chin dipped towards his chest in an uncomfortable fashion. His muscles felt like jelly.

"Sure," Harvey said and stood up to push Mike's pillow up against the headboard. Then he eased Mike up into a sitting position, guiding him to lean back against the pillow. He kept his hands on his shoulders to guarantee that Mike could stay in the upright position without toppling over before returning to his seat, his hand coming to rest over Mike's.

"Thanks," Mike breathed as he rotated his stiff neck.

Harvey nodded in response, glancing past Mike to the machine on his right to make sure everything was still functioning properly.

Mike broke the quiet first. "If you don't mind my asking–"

"If you have to start a question like that, I probably mind."

"–how long have I been in here?"

Harvey looked down, his focus shifting to Mike's hand encompassed within his own. He distractedly ran his hand through his hair for what Mike guessed to be the hundredth time.

"A day."

"Only a day?" Mike asked incredulously, making Harvey look back up at him quizzically.

"It just," Mike started sheepishly, settling back against the pillow, "felt longer."

"Well, you were pretty out of it," Harvey explained. "For the first hours, you didn't even wake up. When you _finally_ did–" Mike didn't miss the emphasis put on the word "–it was like you weren't here. Around 8 o'clock was when you started talking."

Mike flushed slightly at this. Yes, he remembered what it was he had said and to whom he had said it to. Harvey noticed and didn't bother hiding his smirk. But he blessedly didn't push the topic or mentioned the words that had been exchanged. He did, however, let the silence linger for longer than it needed to, forcing Mike to relieve the previous night with agonizing clarity; leaving him and his imagination as to what Harvey thought about what he had said run wild. Harvey was willing to give the kid a break from teasing due to his condition, but not enough to let him get away scot-free. He'd let him squirm in embarrassment a little.

"And you stayed the whole time?" Mike asked, looking for a different topic to switch to, eyes flickering everywhere but Harvey.

"I made a promise I would."

Mike looked up in surprise to meet Harvey's level and sincere gaze. Yes, he remembered that part too: the voice of the owner he couldn't see promising to be at his side when he woke up. Harvey had kept that promise, remaining at Mike's side through the night, not leaving even to find a more comfortable place to sleep (most likely threatening the nurses to let him stay as well). And, judging from his suit, Harvey had stayed with him throughout the previous day as well. Without a promise; on his own volition.

"What are you smiling about?" Harvey asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.

Mike turned his lopsided grin to Harvey. "Oh, you so care."

"I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that I don't," Harvey countered coolly.

"So you stayed all day and night in the hospital with me because it was an excuse to play hooky from work?"

"No."

"Because you had to make sure the doctors didn't kill me so that you wouldn't have to suffer through hiring from new applicants?"

"No."

"Because you were genuinely concerned about my welfare and wanted to stay to make sure I would be ok?"

"No."

"I have to admit, I'm running out of reasons."

"Because Donna told me to."

"Donna." Mike said with obvious skepticism.

"Yes. She couldn't stay so she told me to keep an eye on you."

"Told you to."

"Are you sure you're feeling better? Your hearing doesn't seem to be working."

"I just find it a little odd that you would listen to what someone else told you to do. You're not the type to obey commands easily. You don't even fully do what Jessica tells you to do." Mike shot Harvey a shrewd sidelong glance. "What'd she do? Cry?"

"No." Amusement snuck into the word.

Mike leaned closer towards Harvey and dropped his voice as if he were sharing a secret only he and Harvey could know about. "Does she scare you?"

"No."

"Really? I think she does. She scares me."

"Because you're a wuss."

"All right. You don't have to tell me. All the more reason to make assumptions about you."

"You really want to know why?"

"Yes."

"Because Donna is not a force to be reckoned with," a new voice interrupted and both Harvey and Mike looked to the door to see Donna standing there, hands on hips.

Mike grew a shade paler but Harvey calmly greeted Donna with a nod. She acknowledged him with a smile and a silent conversation passed between the two that Mike was excluded from.

"Donna," Mike greeted with a swallow.

"Mike," Donna replied casually as she stepped lightly up to the bed. She walked right up to him and bent down to kiss his forehead. "I'm glad to see you're awake." She stood up again as the color returned to Mike's face twofold. "You gave us a bit of a scare earlier."

"Us?" Mike intoned, raising a brow at Harvey meaningfully.

"Rachel visited yesterday," Harvey answered dismissively.

Mike turned his loaded gaze to Donna and she agreed with a roll of her eyes.

Mike's smile faded, however, when Harvey stood up from his chair. His associate's attention instantly swiveled to him.

"Where are you going?" Mike asked, voice strained in a panicky tone.

"To change. And make a few phone calls." He looked to Donna.

She nodded. "Ray still has your clothes. And today's schedule has already been cleared."

Harvey nodded with gratitude but looked back down at Mike when the kid refused to release his hand. He eyed Mike's suddenly anxious expression and smiled reassuringly. "You're in capable hands. I've never seen Donna fuss over anyone as much as she did you."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Donna amended, glancing pointedly at Harvey. "But the capable hands part is true. Although, I don't like limitations placed upon my body. My hands aren't the only capable thing about me."

What was meant to arouse humor to lighten Mike's current mood fell on deaf ears. Mike was only looking at Harvey, his fingers tightening around Harvey's. Though he didn't say it aloud, the plea was obvious in his eyes.

_Don't go._

Harvey tentatively placed his other hand over Mike's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right back. I promise."

Mike hesitated but reluctantly loosened his grip, allowing his hand to fall from Harvey's.

"Good boy," Harvey smiled and turned to the door. He left without looking back.

Mike watched the door sadly and grew even more disheartened when Harvey didn't turn around and come back.

Donna, all knowing Donna, noticed and wordlessly took Harvey's place beside Mike. She sat on the bed next to him, one arm slipping around his shoulders so she could bring her hand up to stroke his hair. The other took Mike's hand. He held hers back and laid his head on her shoulder. He was suddenly very tired, as if he had actually done something in the short amount of time he had been awake. How was it that he had slept for a full day and was still so tired?

But there was one question buzzing loudly in his head.

"Donna?"

"Hmm?"

"What did you mean by Ray _still_ has his clothes?"

He felt a smile spread over her lips. "Ray brought a change of clothes over for Harvey yesterday but he didn't want to change."

"Why not?" Mike asked, voice quiet. He closed his eyes. He wanted to stay awake; to wait until Harvey came back. He would just rest his eyes for a minute.

"Harvey would tell you that it was because he didn't want to ruin a perfectly good suit by sitting in a chair all day. He'd rather ruin the suit already wrinkled." Donna paused to glance at Mike. "But I'd say it was because he didn't want to leave you. He wanted to stay with you so that you wouldn't wake up alone."

Mike gave a start and smiled.

"He so cares."

"Yes he does."

With that said, Donna stated to hum a familiar tune as she continued to caress Mike's hair. Still smiling, Mike drifted off to sleep.

**._._._._._._._._.**

**I think we're a little past the halfway point in the story. I still don't have a definite ending in mind but I'm working on it. As you know, school started and there's a lot of reading to do.**

**Anyway, that opinion I wanted to share with you is about Donna. I recently watched several youtube videos of her best sarcastic and funny moments with Harvey and Mike and I just had to share this thought with you:**

**Donna is really a great character and a fantastic addition to the show. The staff really chose a great actress to play her too. Her casual friendship (bordering on more that they unfortunately don't want to pursue) with Harvey and her willingness to look out for Mike when Harvey's otherwise preoccupied, her protectiveness of both, and her sharp wit and sarcasm all make the show even better. ****Sarah Rafferty plays Donna perfectly.**

**There, just thought I'd mention that even though I'm sure many of you already knew it. Go watch Donna's clips on youtube. They still make me laugh.**

**The other thing I mentioned in my last chapter was a question I wanted to ask you guys involving the show and Mike. You see, I've been under the impression (like so many of you judging by the fanfics I've read) that Mike's parents died in a car crash. But a recent fanfic said otherwise. For the sake of a possible future fanfic, did Mike's parent die in a car crash or was it another scenario the show hasn't mentioned yet? **

**If you read all this, congratulations, and if you answered my question, thank you very much. I'll update as soon as possible. See you then.**

**Hobey-Ho**


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